Musical Interlude
by CG
Summary: A collection of situations all using the themes of various songs without really being song fics. Small details of Clarise and Hannibal on the run after the novel version of Hannibal. Please r/r ^_^
1. >>Confrontation

The Very Musical Disclaimer- La la la none of these songs nor characters belong to me la la la don't sue la la la.   
  
Notes- This is a fun concept I had: short Lecter fics all connected by one thread: I apply the theme from a song from a famous musical or song. But unlike a songfic, it doesn't really use the song for anything more than a theme. I do use a quote from the song at the beginning of the story though. All take place after the novel version of Hannibal unless noted. I'll add more as I write more.   
  


**Musical Interlude**  
  
Primero: Confrontation

  
  
Summery- Hannibal realizes that soon and Clarise will have to deal with their own Javert.   
  
Song- "The Confrontation" from Les Misrables   
  


_Javert: Men like me can never change  
Men like you can never change   
No, 24601,   
My duty's to the law  
Dare you talk to me of crime  
And the price you had to pay  
  
Val Jean: Believe of me what you will   
I'm a stronger man by far   
There is power in me yet   
My race is not yet run   
There is nothing I won't dare   
If I have to kill you here   
I'll do what must be done!  
_ --From "The Confrontation" from Les Misrables

  
  
Special Agent Ardelia Mapp looked out the window taking a break from her tireless work. She was a woman who was fiercely loyal to those she considered friends, and Clarise had been one of her best. Day after day, she sought her revenge. Her revenge on Hannibal the Cannibal. The ring, she wore it everyday, unsure if it had been Clarise's gift as she parted the world, or a ploy from the monster himself in attempt to put her fears at ease. In either case, she knew Clarise was in trouble. Perhaps he was keeping her alive with a sort of mockery, waiting to destroy her only when he made his confrontation with the FBI. Ardelia did not doubt that the monster had sinister motives.   
  
"I swear I'll find you, Clarise," she whispered to whoever was there to hear.  
  
But our story really begins in London, in the theater district. It is a lovely night, slightly cool and pierced with diamond stars. If Clarise Starling had known that people had thought her dead, she surely would have laughed. Leaving theater wearing a green evening gown made of satin with floating chiffon layers over it ending in an elegantly uneven hem, Clarise was far from dead. She was more alive than ever. She would have laughed even harder if she had known that people thought the perpetrator of her death was the handsome man escorting her back to the fancy suite in the hotel they were staying at. Of course, she was pretty sure of these facts, so far from the truth. She knew what people thought, and had learned long ago to count it as a blessing.   
  
This time she was a red head, and with some actor's makeup her coloring was fixed to match the complexion necessary. Somehow they had pulled it off, and rather nicely. In a week they would head to Barcelona, Spain, and she would be brunette again, as she preferred to remain. However, she would wear the green colored contacts and make other necessary changes to make up for her natural hair color.   
  
London: a city as alive as Clarise felt. Oh, it was lovely, yet she had to agree with Hannibal, that it had been marred by the tourists. It was bright and dark and everything in between: infinite shades of gray.   
  
Dr. Hannibal Lecter had taken good care of her current disguise. It forever amused him to hear the other British doctors in London for the convention of the Psychiatric Institute accept her as a native born Brit. Of course, her accent had painstakingly been perfected, and now posing as Elizabeth Alberts, wife of Dr. Alexander Alberts. 'The real test is the natives,' he would tell her, and sometimes she'd notice him desiring to loose his composure and laugh at the supposed geniuses who thought Clarise to be British. But he had self-control of iron.   
  
Tonight, the production had not been an opera, but on the contrary a production of Les Misrables. Although he obviously preferred opera, the plot of the criminal Jean Val Jean forever avoiding the crazed policeman, Javert had been beyond amusing to Hannibal. Strangely enough, the police had ended up the insane and the criminal the sane. This amused him even further. It was at the epiphany of this amusement that he had a revelation. The reoccurring of themes in life, and seeing this musical now meant something was coming. Clarise had not been without friends in the FBI. Did he truly think that he could sweep the agent away from her past life without causing madness to those he left deprived of her presence.   
  
"My dear," he began, "At times life becomes like a literary work. We see themes stretching through the span of our lives, as reoccurring as if someone had written them there." He had his arm around her, protecting her from the slight autumn-like chill.  
  
She understood, but was not in the mood to think of such things. Instead, her head was filled with reflection and irony. She knew what "everyone" thought. She knew too well. And yet it was all a lie. Was anyone still searching for her?   
  
Hannibal knew better. He knew that he was being hunted tirelessly. He was Val Jean and Jevert would never rest until he was back into captivity.   
  
The air was wonderful, filled with scents of autumn leaves, champagne, and Clarise all wrapped in the fresh scent of evening wind. Javert could not take this away from him.   
  
The melody of the famous aria from Mozart's Die Zauberflöte (The Magic Flute) sang by the Queen of the Night floated gently through the air from the stereo (They had tickets to see the opera in Germany in a month and Hannibal was a firm believer in familiarizing one with the music to really appreciate the opera when it was it was performed) as the couple sipped some expensive vintage on the terrace of their suite under the stars. Clarise was blissfully ignorant of Hannibals revelation, and he was glad of it, for he knew it would make her tense. When she was tense she talked less, and this hurt him deeply. But he knew the confrontation would come soon. Clarise had thought she had avoided it.   
  
"Do you really think they still are looking for me?" Clarise whispered.  
  
Not wanting to give the game away, Hannibal decided to treat her like the innocent Cosette, not knowing of the immediate danger. With Hannibal there was always danger, but not like this. There was not usually the danger of knowlagable confrontation such as this. "Perhaps, yet I'm sure you will find your former friends at the FBI refreshingly clueless in all matters. Yes, they probably assume that you died at my hands."   
  
This seemed to quiet a few of her doubts. Yet she still worried about Ardelia. Would she listen to the plea of the ring? Would she not try to follow?   
  
Hours later, those same stars shone over Mapp's car as she drove home, still close and yet far to finding Hannibal. Tommorrow she would fly out to visit a friend in London, and perhaps refresh her mind in doing so. Though the night was silent, it seemed to be ringing with promises. Her promise a year ago to Clarise. She would never yeild until she had avenged her friend.  
  
Mapp was not particularly religious. Though part of her would like to believe that killing Lecter would send him to hell, she was unwilling to take the chance that it didn't. Besides, hell for Lecter would be the same as what she would rather give him. The assylum. She knew how he hated being chained like the wild beast that he was. No, religion wasn't her motive. It was something more innate, the feeling of eye for an eye. He had taken the life of her friend, she would take away his life of freedom. Eye for an eye. Yes, this was right. He did not deserve his freedom. He had nowhere to run. She would confront him, hopefully soon.   
  
This confrontation would be a beautiful danger for her: face-to-face with the most vicious criminal. Yet, she didn't care. All that mattered was his being brought to justice.   
  
Some called Mapp's tireless quest for Lecter maddness, insanity. That she was so drunk on the law and rightiousness that she forgot the real world and her real self. She ignored this. All that mattered was her mission. Avenge Clarise. Destroy Lecter.   
  
A few hours back on London time, Clarise lays asleep in Lecter's arms, still unknowing of the confrontation that would occur. Lecter was awake and he was thinking. Patience he told himself Javert will confront you soon enough. He knew that as in the musical, Javert would never be crafty enough to take what had. He was prepared, if it meant killing his pursuer, or another dinner guest. As always, he was several steps ahead. Javert did not even know how soon the confrontation would come.   
  
Two Days Later:  
  
Ardelia Mapp walks along with her friends when she sees the couple. Asking them to wait for her at the underground station, she follows them, unsure of what she had seen.   
  
The woman had red hair, and her complexion was a bit paler. Yet, there was no mistaking it. She almost leaps for joy. Yes, it was her. Clarise! She wants so desperately to call to her. Had she escaped and was hiding from Hannibal as they spoke? But now she sees the maroon-eyed man walking with Clarise was staring her. Ardelia realizes whom she is looking at. The dragon. The monster. The cannibal.   
  
His arm clasps tighter over Clarise who turns at his touch to see Ardelia. She opens her mouth, as if to say something, but is wise enough to keep her cover.   
  
"It is a bit chilly this evening, my dear," the monster remarks, "perhaps we should take a cab?"  
  
"Yes, my legs are getting quite tired as we speak."   
  
He continues to glare at Ardelia. Perhaps it is madness, perhaps it is fear, but she meets his glare with one of her own. The red pin points of lights in his eyes dance dangerously, meeting her glare, equally menacing with her new rage and menace. Then, the cab is summoned he opens the door for Clarise and they are gone. Gone.   
  
The confrontation lasted little more than a few secconds, yet in those glares unspoken warnings and challenges were passed. Clarise now knows of his revelation, and understands Hannibal's cautious manner of the past few days. But it was over now, Jean Valjean had met Javert, and triumphed once again. The confrontation had come and gone. Still, under new aliases, they leave for Barcelona the next day.   
  
But that night, under the stars Ardelia tries not to yell. She tries not to cry. She tries to control her rage. Glaring up at the glimmering night sky, she makes a promise. Javert's promise.   
  


_And this I swear to you tonight   
There is no place for you to hide   
Wherever you may hide away   
I swear to you, I will be there!  
_


	2. >>Masquerade

Segundo: Masquerade

  
  
Summary- A reflection piece from Clarise's point of view. What is it like for your life suddenly to become a Masquerade.  
  
Song- "Masquerade" from Phantom of the Opera  
  


_"Masquerade! Paper faces on Parade  
Masquerade!   
Hide your face so the world will never find you!  
Masquerade! Every face a different shade  
Masquerade!   
Look around there's another mask behind you!"  
_ --"Masquerade from Phantom of the Opera

  
  
Today I am a dark-haired, violet-eyed creature. Today my complexion is dark. Today I am Melanie Tither. Who was she? I never knew her. She is simply another face in the night. Another day. Another masquerade. Another bottle of hair dye. Another case of makeup.   
  
Clarise Starling is dead, he warned me of this. Only at night, when we are alone, can we be Clarise and Hannibal anymore. By day, it is an endless charade.   
  
Who am I anymore? Last week I was Tiffany O'Hare, four weeks ago I was Bianca DuPrize. I have been over Europe. My accent is gone. FBI? Ha! Perhaps I toured the building once but where did you get the silly idea I was ever a part of it. It feels strange now. There was a time when I knew my cause and my aim. But now I have no identity but the mask.  
  
"Patience darling. It gets easier," he whispers soothingly in my ear at night, when I am Clarise again.   
  
Today's masked ball required attending another lecture, and then luncheon at a quaint French bistro. I had to be careful to use only broken French, as I was posing as a foreigner, the wife of a Frenchman named Henri Tither.   
  
Every alias my face changes shade, I have been fair, and dark. No longer am I just one face, but many.  
  
He has told me he enjoys the variety, but I know he would rather just have me, as I would rather just have him.  
  
Instead we have many different people who are others yet us at the same time. Until night, when the dance ends, and the masks come off, and we see who is who. Unless we spend most of the night at the Opera, there is about eight delicious hours when we are Clarise and Hannibal.   
  
Then it is morning. Then it is another mask, another ball, another dance. Everyday.   
  
I love him, I must. Otherwise I would never masquerade.   
  
I am Melanie Tither. I am Tiffany O'Haire. I am Bianca DuPrize.   
  
Someday, they will fade away. Someday the masks will come off for good.   
  
Then, I will be able to look positively in the mirror and say, "I am Clarise. He is Hannibal."   
  
For now, we masquerade.   
  



End file.
